Page 22 of Crash Course
A piss-poor rebuttal, but whatever.
Zeke blew air through his lips. "You’ve gotta slow down. I’ve been checking the bin daily for two weeks."
"You’re spying on me?"
"Damn straight. At first, I was dumping the kitchen recyclables and noticed a few empties in the bin. Next morning? Another one. Seeing a trend, I decided to have a conversation before our mother notices all those empties."
And here he’d thought he’d been careful, mixing the bottles in and taking some empties to town to dump them for just this reason. Living with his family, not much stayed secret.
So he liked a whiskey—or three—at night? It relaxed him. Took the edge off the amount of estrogen flooding their home since all the women had entered their lives. Then, with the Stutz crapping out, all Dad’s warnings about staying focused and not screwing up bashed his skull in.
When Cruz was growing up, for whatever reason, Dad had hyper-focused on him. Always on him. Always correcting. Always, always lecturing.
If Dad were here? The whiskey would be considered a major screwup. And worse, Cruz knew it was happening. The occasional drink went to three times a week, then four, and then grew to nightly.
"When Phin finds you passed out on the floor," Zeke said, "and then does his best to cover for you, clearly I need to find out if we have a problem. Do we have a problem?"
Cruz locked his gaze on his brother, refusing to look away. Refusing to give in to the humiliation. No, he’d face this head-on and tell his brother just what the fuck his problem was. "Other than the women who seemed to have invaded our lives?"
Zeke’s lips parted, then closed for a few seconds while he took that in. His eyebrows drifted together, squeezing the skin between them. "Invadedour lives? What the fuck, Cruz?"
Being the unfiltered one in the family, Cruz had never made friends with hindsight. Now was no different. Still, maybe he could have phrased that atadsofter.
Maybe?
Dang, he was pissy. He wasn’t completely sure why. Other than the fact that the changes to his environment had been massive. And not by choice. He held up a hand. "That was out of line. Apologies."
"No apology necessary. Do you have a problem with Maddy, Liv, and/or Lena being here?"
Yes."No."
"Are you lying?"
Goddammit.Cruz made a humming noise. "It’s just . . ." He circled a hand. "A lot. I feel like I’m drowning in estrogen. Always watching my language. It was bad enough before with only Mom and Grams. Now I can’t even drop a solid motherfucker when Mom and Grams aren’t around. For me? A challenge on my best day. I’m constantly on edge trying not to offend someone. I’m . . . adjusting."
The heat in Zeke’s eyes melted away. "Shit, Cruz. I didn’t realize the effect their presence was having on you."
"If we didn’t live and work on the same property, it’d be different. I live here, though, and I’m suddenly thinking twice about taking my shirt off after a workout because I might run into one of them on my way back to my suite."
There. Said it. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Worse, he was a whiny asshole who should be happy for his brothers rather than complaining. Nope. Not an ounce of relief here.
Before this little suckfest of emotional vomit continued, Cruz whirled a finger. "Gotta go. Forget I said anything. It’s not a big deal."
He beelined to the doorway.
"Cruz?"
Hand on the knob, he halted but didn’t look back. "Zeke, I have shit to do."
"You’re right. This is your home."
Gaze still straight ahead, Cruz stood stock-still. "Yeah. But it’s your home, too. And Phin’s and Ro’s. One big happy family."
Along with all the women.
Before Zeke could answer, Cruz hauled ass out the door, shutting it behind him in case Zeke wanted to continue this tromp through hell.
He kept moving, cutting through the herb gardens Grams loved planting in the spring. All he needed was to get to the garage. Just forget the entire episode and slide under the Stutz where he could focus on something other than his life falling apart.
